


Ashes to Ashes (You swallow it like courage)

by meaningtospeak



Category: Captain America (Movies), MCU, Marvel, Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, BAMF Darcy Lewis, Bucky and Darcy equals lots and lots of angsty cuteness, Bucky needs a hug, Character Death, Darcy is a spy, Darcy is the fandom bicycle and I love it, F/M, I think Darcy and Steve fucked once I'm not sure, I'm just letting this characters guide me, SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE THINGS, Steve Rogers is a dick, Steve and Darcy are frenemies, Steve just wanted a cheeseburger
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-03 16:52:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11536395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meaningtospeak/pseuds/meaningtospeak
Summary: I'm not letting Steve fuckin Rogers run me out of town. Not again.--Darcy Lewis is dead. Robbie, Roberta, Chandler made sure of that.





	1. Run.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written in awhile. It was inspired by a prompt. I don't know what it'll become, or if it'll become anything really; join me for this ride?

My dad left me with three life rules to live by: 1. Liquor before beer, you're in the clear. 2. Don't tuck your thumb in your fist before throwing a punch and 3. Don't get caught; You're a Lewis, kid. The first two were easy, but the third one proved difficult, all because of a fuckin’ cheeseburger. Let me explain.

I'm a waitress at this dinky restaurant/coffee house, you know the type right? With the awful clashing decorations that just make you want to barf? With bean bags and shit? The type created by some hipster, trying to be “newly olden” or whatever the fuck else is trendy right now. The type “normal” people love to hate on, the type of place I would love to hate on. But it pays the bills, it keeps a roof over my head (for the most part), so I try not to write too many bad yelp reviews about it in a week. I try. I really do.

  
I don't succeed, I'm just human; what can I say?

  
So, long story short; a customer orders a Villagios Steak, also known to the common public as a fucking cheeseburger, and that's when my life goes down the crapper.

  
I nod. I smile. I pop my bubble gum and flirt so that I can make 20% tip and maybe be able to afford breakfast tomorrow morning. Normal things on a normal day. Until he looks up and mutters my name under his breath. Like a curse.

  
Or maybe like a promise, I don't know.

  
I run.

  
\---

  
I don't run, obviously. I have friends, and a job, and med school to get through. I got shit going on, you know. A fuckin life. I'm not letting Steve _fuckin_ Rogers run me out of town.

  
Not again, anyways.

  
“Darcy…” He mutters again, but louder this time.

  
I shake my blonde ponytail and smile, my blue eyes shining through my pink framed glasses. “Sorry, sir. Wrong name, wrong gal.” I twirl a piece of my hair between pink polished nails. I point at my name tag. “Name’s Robbie, give me a shout if you need anything else, mmmkay?” I turn and flee to the comfort of the kitchen, pink lips pursed in a frown. My mind running through all the scenarios and possibilities; to the gun in my purse.

  
Steve _fuckin_ Rogers staring after me like he's seen a ghost.

  
“Hey, Pablo! Give me a number 22, medium rare, hold the pickles, extra ketchup please. Waffle fries instead of the onion rings. Thank you, you're a prince” I smile, I flirt, I keep up the charade.

  
Robbie, Roberta, Chandler is a flirty perky blonde that loves life. She loves the fuck out of life, ok? Animals, people, sunshine, flowers, horses, unicorns, you name it, Robbie loves it, ok? She's sunshine, and sugar, and no spice. She's everything nice. Robbie is not like Darcy Lewis, and I prefer it like that.

  
Robbie, Roberta, Chandler with the awful manly name that she just _hates_ and the tendency to flirt with a wall if you let her, is a normal 25 year old woman. Nothing bad ever happened to Robbie. Robbie never did anything bad to anyone.

  
Robbie is the antithesis of everything I was.

  
I sigh, I lick my lips, I smile. I'm not letting Steve _fuckin_ Rogers run me out of town. I just need to _do_ something, _anything_ , to give myself the time to research the reason behind his visit. He must want something. He must be after something.

  
_Bucky._

  
The only thing Steve has ever wanted is to find Bucky. I worry my bottom lip between my teeth, tap my foot against the greasy floor beneath my feet and as nonchalantly as possible bump my elbow against the oil bottle next to the grill.

  
A rough scream tears out of my throat as the black surface catches on fire, the flames licking at my bare skin.

  
Second degree burn, recommended hospital stay, enough time to get close to some old channels and find out what the fuck Steve is doing in the middle of Bucks County, PA.

  
“Robbie!” Pablo runs towards me, his brown eyes wide with panic. “Estas bien, what happened? Cmon let's ice this, move girls. Let her breathe.” My eyes are watery, my easygoing smile is replaced by a grimace of pain.

  
I sniffle in a sob, and allow some tears to ruin my makeup. “I don't know, I guess I got distracted? It's just been a bad day...and I-i I don't know, I'm so sorry Pablo I'll pay for whate---”

Pablo shushes me with a shake of his head and a sincere smile, the ice on my skin somehow feels colder. “What are you talking about Roberta? It was an accident, not your fault, mi niña.” He pats my head like I'm five years old and simply broke an inexpensive vase.

  
Jayne’s green eyes are somehow level to mine and she speaks in a rushed tone, the adrenaline and coffee wreaking havoc in her system. Her voice is low and raspy from the cigarettes she smokes. “Robbie, we called the ambulance they're gonna be here any minute, sweetie. Laura is gonna cover your tables, and she's gonna split the tips with you, right L?” Laura rolls her big, brown eyes and smiles.

  
I feel like an asshole. The rest of the girls crowd me, awwing in sympathetic tones as they take in the raw, red burn on my arm. I don't deserve such friends.

  
“Ok girls let her through, c'mon. Show's over." It's Pablo this time, taking charge and maneuvering me out of the kitchen towards the front door. His touch is as soft as a summer breeze on my skin, it makes me want to cry. I'm such an asshole. “Laura will bring your stuff home with her tonight, ok?” He reassures me as he catches my eye wandering towards the row of lockers in the back. The Glock 19, nine millimeters with the silencer adapter is in there; there's no fucking way I can explain that.

  
I nod. God.

  
Fuck man, just _fuck_.


	2. Old friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy Lewis is back for one more mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited about this story! very sorry for any and all mistakes you find!!! I'll proofread and fix anything I find as I read this over later, but I just wanted you to read this as soon as possible. I still have no idea where this story is going, but I've a few plot bunnies running around. Thank you so much for your comments, hope you enjoy!

Turns out that Steve _fuckin_ Rogers is not in Bucks County, PA on business; the fucking nerd is just taking in the sights. Apparently. According to SHIELD’s water cooler gossip anyways, which right now is like 15 percent credible and really not worth much since Randy from HR is the only asshole willing to talk to me; Randy is a fucking perv, but a source is a source, and he's the only one I've got at the moment. And that's only because the weasel owes me. Big time.

I might have also threatened to go back to D.C. just to cut his balls off. Whooops.

_Still need to work on that impulse control, Darce._

I sigh, I run my fingers through tangled hair and close my eyes. He's not here to bring me in, maybe I'm safe. Maybe I can stay.

I laugh.

I just want a normal life, for fuck’s sake. I guess I'm going to have to fight for it. Robbie Chandler isn't a fighter, but Darcy Lewis definitely is.

  
\--

  
It takes me five minutes to find the name of the hotel and room number Rogers is staying at, it takes me longer than that to build up the courage to approach him. It's embarrassing, really. It's not because I'm afraid of the big blonde lug, _as if_. Matter of fact, Steve wishes I was afraid of him, it would make his life easier.

 _Pfffft_.

No, definitely not scared or intimidated or anything like that. Just cautious.

Yes, _cautious_. I have been out the game way too long, and the old man was practically molded in it. Natasha would probably praise me right now.

Tony would call me a coward.

I'm a coward.

Fuuuuuck.

  
\---

  
Steve is staying at Sherry’s Bucks County Hotel, which weird; since it's literally the dingiest but somehow still the most over the top place, ever. Like seriously, the place has fucking chandeliers in the bathrooms. Chande-flipping-liers in the fucking shitters. Enough said.

His room is on the third floor, it's easy enough to steal a key from the cleaning lady I share an elevator ride with on the way up. I smile at her as we both exit the elevator, her name tag reads Rita, and she has the kindest green eyes I have ever seen.  “Husband or boyfriend?” She asks in a knowing tone.

“Old friend. Sort of.” I shrug. What is Steve to me? “Friend of a friend.”

Green eyes search mine as the doors close behind us, hands wrinkled from time and hard work touch my elbow. “You look ready for war, sweetie. Don't let him see you so shaken up, a guerilla attack only works if the enemy doesn't see it coming.” She laughs then, like she just told the funniest joke.

I smile. I nod. She's right. “Thank you, miss Rita.” Mission parameters have changed.

  
\---

  
He finds me lounging on his bed; gun with suppressor laying next to me, my attention on the old Doctor Who episode that's on, my hand buried inside the popcorn bowl on top of my stomach. “Welcome back, Cap.”  The "pop" sound my lips make attract his eyes to them, to the red lipstick that's all Darcy and nothing like Robbie. I take my eyes off the tv, I throw him a smile.

It's all teeth.

His gaze flicks towards the gun as he takes measures steps towards the bed. “Darce…”

“Tsk tsk tsk, not one more step soldier.” My fingers leave the sticky comfort of the butter smothered popcorn and reach towards the old SIG, its weight on my hand a welcome comfort. “And it's Roberta now, Robbie for short.”

He sighs, tries and fails to stop his eyes from rolling. “Ok, Darcy. I'm not here to bring you in---” I laugh.

It startles both of us.

“As if I would even let you try.” I sit up, gun still aiming at his perfect forehead, between his sky blue eyes. “So, why are you here, Steven Grant Rogers?”

“Just to talk, Darce. I swear.” He's giving me his patent “butter wouldn't melt” look, the one that spells out T R O U B L E with bold, capital letters.

Fuck me.

 _Fuck_ _him_.

“Then talk, fast. Trigger finger getting mighty fucking itchy, Steve.” My legs cross on their own accord, skirt rides up my thighs; Steve's eyes flick downwards, he licks his lips, takes another step. “Jesus fucking Christ on a unicycle, Rogers! Concentrate! I have a gun aimed at your fucking head, you jackhole!”

He at least has the decency to look ashamed. He averts his eyes towards the gun again. “I need your help, Darce.”

Fuck you, Steve Rogers. My hands cock the gun on their own accord and I tilt my head, blonde hair drapping down my back. “Fuck you." I stand. "You've two hours to leave town, or I will shoot you down like the vermin you are.” My feet find themselves back inside my heels, left hand lifts my purse from the night stand.

“Darcy, it’s about Bucky, please. I think he's alive. I need your help.” He's pleading now, his voice is sugar and whiskey and a flame burning up my skin. His bright blue eyes are brimming with unshed tears. He looks as helpless as a newborn kitten, he looks like I felt three years ago when I was stupid and alone and thought he would give up God and Country for me if I just asked for help. He didn't. 

“Two hours, Rogers. Or someone in this room dies.”


	3. Rewind to the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How did Darcy Lewis end up in Bucks County, PA anyways? 
> 
> Part 1.

Darcy Lewis is recruited into SHIELD at the ripe age of 15. She's a prodigy and a legacy they tell her; her dad would've wanted this, they say. She wants to scream at them that what he wanted doesn't matter anymore, it's not like it's going to change the fact that he's fucking dead, six feet under maggots eating at his skin dead. Plus, it's not like he care much about her when he was alive, so why would he suddenly care now. She wants to scream all of this at them; she doesn't.

Instead, she excels at everything and anything they throw at her. Maths, science, music, martial arts, target practice, hand to hand combat, dance, even fucking astrology once. She does as she's told, and doesn't rebel against orders even once. She plans to be the best fucking field agent SHIELD has ever produced, she is going to go down on the history books even if it kills her. She's going to be better than her father even if it kills her.

She graduates top of her class; she's a prodigy her classmates whisper. She's legacy.  
  
_Nepotism_. They all think it but none dare say it.

Darcy Antoinette Lewis, SHIELD field agent. She wears that label with pride. An infiltration specialist, expert tactician, interrogation specialist, and a hell of a markswoman. It takes her four years but she's on her way to being one of the best and brightest SHIELD has ever offered; by the time she's 20, she's only a couple of missions away from surpassing her father’s success record. She's close, but no cigar as her trainer Nora Petrova would say.

That's why she takes the Jane Foster mission, code named “Firefly”, basically a long term reconnaissance mission on an astrophysicist that's conducting groundbreaking work that SHIELD would like to be aware of. Her father repertoire does not include any undercover work, he never had the tact nor the patience for being undercover for undisclosed periods of time. Firefly will give her the edge she needs. She will be the one and only Lewis the halls of SHIELD’s headquarters will still whisper about 45 years down the line.

\---

She's been undercover as Darcy Lewis, polisci undergrad and astrophysicist intern, _she needs the science credits to graduate ok_ , for months now. It feels easy, like wearing her slippers after a day of running around with her combat boots on. Dr. Jane, “please call me Jane”, Foster is lovely. A kind, gentle soul, with an imagination and a brain the size of the universe. She's a mousy brunette, with killer legs and a killer sense of humor. Darcy likes her.

Jane becomes her best friend.

Darcy hates this mission.

It wavers her loyalty to the badge she keeps under her mattress back at home. It tests who she is and who she thought she was and who she is to become. Darcy Lewis grows.

And falls in _love_.

\---

Sophie was Jane’s last intern. A bubbly redhead, with a Colgate smile that blinds Darcy the first time she visits, and an odd sense of style that makes Darcy chuckle with mirth every time they meet. Darcy always thought of herself as aromantic, straight if the situation calls for it, but Sophie brings out feelings in her she has never felt for another human being before. She starts to think that maybe she's just tired, it's wrecking her focus.

She imagines Sophie's bright pink lipstick smudge against her darker one the next time they meet, and has to shake her head to clear it.

She goes home sick that day.

She kisses Sophie’s trembling lips one night after they have just ran home because of the rain, Jane’s giddy giggles are like the background music of a ridiculously sappy montage. Labels? Labels don't mean shit.

Darcy feels immensely happy.

It doesn't last.

\---

Turns out Darcy is not the only spy keeping an eye out on Jane Foster’s research. Turns out Darcy _is_ the only spy that doesn't want Jane dead. She stares straight ahead as she's debriefed, sweat pouring down her back like bullets because they're inside a shipping container in Puerto Antigua and it feels like she's been sitting inside Satan’s asshole for the last 2 hours. Her heart broke in between minute 5 and hour one. She stares at the picture of Sophie, at her chocolate brown eyes, and sighs.

“Do you understand the new mission parameters, Agent Lewis?” Coulson asks from her right, he's not doing the debriefing this time, Natasha is.

Darcy closes her eyes and can feel both Coulson and Natasha stare at her, their gazes burning holes into her face. She imagines holding Sophie's hand one last time, kissing her peppermint lips again.

She nods. Avoids Coulson’s questioning eyes, and instead stares into Natasha’s azure ones. She can see the heartbreak inside of them, the displeasure at the situation on the purse of her lips. “Mission parameters accepted, Agent Coulson.”

Natasha closes her eyes like she's been stabbed.

\----

Darcy kills her first love and makes it look like a suicide.

\---

She attaches herself to Jane Foster like a fungus. Forces Pop-Tarts down her throat every time she remembers what Not-Really-Sophie wanted to do to her. Follows Jane like a shadow every where they go, it's like a switch’s been flipped inside her; she eats, breathes, and sleeps the mission. She adjust mission parameters to include keeping Jane Foster alive and well. Wonders what she would've done had Not-Really-Sophie actually completed her own mission. It keeps her up at night, the images of Jane Foster’s dead body flicker in and out of her conscious.

Her superiors think that it isn't healthy, they threaten to pull her out; Natasha calls her one night and praises her commitment to the mission, even though she doesn't say the words Darcy can read her worry between the lines of what is and isn't said. She agrees to go back.

Darcy cries that night.

\---

  
Thor Odison might be the only god Darcy will ever pray to.

\---  
A week before Darcy is supposed to go back to “Culver”, a gorgeous blond man gets run over by their jeep. Jane screams, Erik panics, and Darcy remembers her training and tasers the man with the modified taser she tinkled with in the lab that day. Needless to say Blond, Tall, and Grouchy goes down like a sack of potatoes. Darcy looks to Jane and Erik for guidance on what to do next, because hello she might be the agent, but they're the adults!

“What?! He was freaking me out!”

  
\--  
She tasered the God of Thunder. Awesome. She's pretty sure that kind of shit is frown upon on an intergalactic diplomatic level.

Motherfucking fuck. She's in a world of shit.

 

 


End file.
